


Once upon a time, in a hair salon

by Rae_Saxon



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: A little bit of angst sneaked in, A lot of talk about hair dying from a person who has no idea of what they're talking about, But they're fine, F/M, Fluff, it always does, light comedy, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rae_Saxon/pseuds/Rae_Saxon
Summary: The Doctor and the Master coincidentally meet in a hair salon, ready to dye their hair blonde. Because that's the kind of idiots they are.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Simm)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 91





	Once upon a time, in a hair salon

She didn't like coming here. Getting one's hair done was a tedious job. She had ignored it in her last – she counted down on her hands – 13 and a half incarnations, excluding her pinstripe suited one, who had come here exactly once.

She had been a vain idiot, then, of course.

But in general, she didn't enjoy the stopping, the waiting, the distinct clutter of scissors while the Shampoodles worked their magic.

Worst of all, however, was the small talk. She had hated the small talk. Usually, she was the King – er, Queen – of chatting – Chatting a lot and giving away nothing was something she excelled at. But the insistent questions about her private life had disturbed her a little.

“ _Do you have a partner, love?”_

_“Oh, I'm so sorry.”_

“ _Any family?”_

“ _No? Ah, maybe a humanoid to impress?”_

“ _Oh, you burnt his corpse after he got shot by his own wife and died in your arms? That's too bad. Now the husband of my second cousin...”_

Needless to say she hadn't come here again.

But her hair was consistently growing out the blonde she had regenerated into, and with a hiss and the slight wonder if people on Gallifrey had wanted to really, really mess with her, when they gave her this regeneration circle, the Doctor had looked at the brown coming down on her hair and decided that... well... There was no way around it, really. She needed someone to sort it out, someone who, in the best case, wouldn't giggle at the suggestion of helping her out, buy orange hair dye and assure her that they weren't going to use it on her. but on their other best friend “Moctor”, like Yasmin and Ryan had.

So here she was. Standing uncomfortably in the door frame, looking at all the busy poodles in their pink fur and perfectly styled hair, running back and forth through the salon, carrying spray cans, combs and scissors.

Hell, she'd spent a week sitting in the ashes of Gallifrey, almost voluntarily, rather than be here right now and answer a lot of awkward questions about why her home planet had been blown to pieces.

Again.

“Hello there love, did you have an appointment?” asked the nearest Shampoodle brightly, as she saw the Doctor standing there, completely lost.

“Uhm. Yeah. Bit of a dye job. Maybe some cutting.” She let her fingers run through some strands of her hair, smiling almost shyly.

The Shampoodle smiled, her dark button eyes full of joy. “Yes, you look like you can need it. Why don't you sit down here in front of the mirror, someone will be with you shortly.”

The Doctor nodded, sitting down with a gulp. Looking at herself in the mirror hadn't been something she enjoyed even when her hair had seen better times and so she instead used it to look around unnoticed. People of all sorts were sitting on the chairs, getting their hair cut, waiting for dye to sink in and sipping some coffee. There was a Judoon lady on the top right corner, watching her eerily and the Doctor sank a little further down her chair, remembering vividly the last time she had escaped their prison.

Best not to draw too much attention to herself, really.

She let her eyes wander, and that's when she saw... _him_.

Shocked, the Doctor whirled around on the chair, her mouth hanging open and her eyes glued to the Master – except it wasn't _her_ Master. It was a younger one, the one who had been Prime Minister of England once. He was leaning back in his chair comfortably, a shampoodle by his side who was busily stirring a little pot with dye.

She could see his hair grey at the sides and a little beard growing, age slowly getting to this body. He looked closer to how he had looked on the colony ship than the version of him she had met before that. Curious, the Doctor lifted herself off her chair, raising her neck to look into the pot.

Straw blonde. Of course. What a bloody idiot. It hadn't even looked _good_ that one time. Bit ridiculous, really. Bit emo.

She pulled at a strand of hair, holding it in front of her eyes and pursed her lips.

Hers was more of a... _err_... richer gold, really. No similarity to his choice of colour at all.

His brown eyes met hers through the mirror and the Doctor froze.

“Seen something exciting?” he called over to her and she grinned awkwardly as the Shampoodle behind him turned around curiously.

Quickly, the Doctor sacked back into her chair.

“I was just thinking. This blonde's really not your colour.”

The Master, still using the mirror without even bothering to turn, replied harshly, “Funny. I was just thinking how great and less annoying you would look a few inches smaller on my top shelf.”

The Doctor's lips twitched as she tried to hold back a smirk.

“It's just, I like the grey, is all. Makes you look good.”

He turned around now, spinning his chair in a classic super villain manner, slowly and languidly.

Dramatic idiot through and through, the Doctor thought fondly.

“And what makes you think I'd care about your opinion, hm?”

He took her in, from her half-long trousers to the rainbow stripes and the hair in an urgent need of a hair dye, grinning evilly.

“It's not like you're one to talk about fashion choices.”

The Doctor smiled back dangerously sweet. “I know it's not exactly a worn jeans and a dirty old hoodie, but it'll do.”

The Master raised an eyebrow.

“Ah,” he finally breathed out, looking calmer immediately. “ _Doctor_. Of course. Who else would stick their nose that excessively into other people's business?”

The Shampoodle looked back and forth between them, confusion spreading on her face.

“You'd be surprised at the people I know,” the Doctor replied with a rather serious nod, making the Master roll his eyes.

“Yes, the people you attract seem to all share that ridiculously annoying trait.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” the Doctor asked, a goofy grin spreading on her face as she spun left to right in her chair a little, watching the Master's dark eyes following her every move with glee.

The Master shrugged.

“Even a super villain such as me can't look impeccable all the time without a little work. And this is the most famous hair salon in the cosmos, after all.”

The Shampoodle next to him nodded proudly, raising her brush with the blonde dye to signify that everything was ready.

The Doctor stopped spinning for a second, gesturing towards it with her chin.

“Not with that, you won't.”

“Excuse me?” the Master asked, startled for a second and to both their surprise, the Doctor jumped off her chair in a swift move and let her fingers run through his hair. It was soft like this, freshly washed and natural and the dark blonde sprinkled with grey made him look so much better and mature, she simply couldn't help it.

The Master froze beneath her, but didn't fight her off, and she took it as a good sign, letting her nails scratch his scalp very gently, just for a second, before quickly pulling back her hands, completely ignoring the more than offended look of the Shampoodle next to her.

“It's good like it is,” she finally whispered, quickly stumbling backwards into her chair again, her hearts suddenly racing. She had not thought that through, and the Master was apparently still largely confused, frozen in his chair, staring ahead blindly.

“Uhm,” he finally made when the Shampoodle stepped closer again, the dripping brush still in her hands. He quickly evaded the dye, rolling away with the chair until he was right next to the Doctor's, raising his hands.

“You know what, entirely unrelated to what she said, because I was thinking that anyway, I think I'll keep my hair like this. It does look better. Makes me sexier.”

He winked at the Doctor, who rolled her eyes but couldn't quite suppress a little smirk.

The Shampoodle looked utterly angry now.

“And what should I do with this, pray tell?”

The Master grinned deviously, his gaze wandering over to the Doctor's intense roots and his eyes gleaming.

“Give it to her. She can use it.”

The Doctor found it hard to disagree, considering how right he was, and so she gave in with a sigh, trying her very best to sit still as the grumpy Shampoodle started applying the dye.

Sitting still was a rather difficult task for her on its own, but it certainly wasn't helped by the Master still ghosting around her, spinning and rolling his chair into all kinds of directions to have full view on her head while the Shampoodle was working.

Apparently intent on ignoring him just like the Doctor was, she attempted some small talk.

“So, you're married, dear?”

Before the Doctor could answer, the Master snorted.

“Please, like she'd ever commit to anyone.”

“Actually, I am,” the Doctor replied, a little louder than was appropriate. “Thank you very much.”

The Master merely snorted again.

“Oh yeah, I've seen that woman running around pretending to be your wife. Didn't even have much to do there. Already dead.”

The Doctor shot him a glare and the Shampoodle, apparently deciding she had said the wrong thing, tried a different approach.

“Children then?”

She shot the Master a warning glance, but he stayed silent now, lips pressed together and an angry expression on his face.

The Doctor took a deep breath.

“Not right now, no.”

“Not a fan? Or not found the right person yet?” the Shampoodle asked kindly.

The Doctor thought getting into the tragedy that was her life story while her hair started to suddenly burn as if on fire wasn't the best of plans.

“Found the right person. Lost the right person.”

The Master's eyes had turned to steel.

“Oh,” the Shampoodle replied. “I see. Well, I always say...”

What followed was a ten minute monologue filled with her brother's best friend's cousin's children and the Doctor used it as a relaxing pause to regain her breath and slow down her hearts, while the Master stared gloomily ahead, clearly having lost his will to tease her.

The only thing worse than awkward hair dresser small talk was the depressing mood when the person it was about was in the room to hear it.

“Is it supposed to burn like this?” she asked, only partly to create a distraction, and partly because she was actually concerned.

The Master's face immediately lit up and he laughed devilishly.

“No, I put something in to make your hair go up in flames, didn't you see? Bye bye hair.”

The Doctor rolled her eyes, only half not-believing him, but trying to appear confident all the same.

“Don't you have a stupid plan to fail or something?”

The Master grinned back at her, she could see his white teeth shining at her through the mirror.

“Yeah but what's the fun if you're not there to spoil it because your hair is burning off your head?”

With that, the Doctor pushed the chair away as the brush came down to her hair again and the Master almost fell over laughing.

The joy in the black button eyes of their hairdresser had completely disappeared, leaving nothing but regret and questioning of her life choices.

“It's just the bleaching,” she sighed. “It always stings a little.”

The Doctor, currently tearing at her hair frantically, stilled.

“It's just the bleaching,” she spit at the Master, who was wiping away tears of laughter. “I knew that.”

When she rolled back in front of the mirror, he looked a bit cheered up, though, and that was all that mattered, really.

She thought of her Master, her broken, raging, sad Master and a shudder ran through her body. She used to make him laugh so easily, genuinely laugh, used to be able to make him break out of that role and return to who they used to be, if only for seconds.

When had she lost it?

Her eyes in the mirror met the Master's and considering the rare warmth and emotion in them, she figured not here, not yet. It must've happened so much later.

With Missy? But that wasn't fair, that simply couldn't be fair, she had tried so hard, had... had... She shook her head. She had failed so miserably, hadn't she? Had failed her oldest friend and...

The Shampoodle had finally enough. Throwing the brush against the mirror, she crashed the pot down on the little table in front of the Doctor, and stomped off.

Pieces of her enraged muttering reached the Doctor's ears, turning her light shock into a giggle.

“ _If you can't even hold still... Unbelievable.... these people.... Time Lords, I told you! They're the worst! Remember that horrendous Braxiatel person....? Never again!”_

The Master shook his head, laughing.

“You just can't even think quietly, can you?” he asked, as he grabbed the pot with the dye, collected the brush and settled with his chair behind hers.

“What are you doing?” she asked, slightly alarmed, but he put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hold still, Doctor, we can't half-dye your roots, you'll look like a clown.... even more like a clown, that should say.”

She shouldn't trust him with her hair at all, chances were she'd come off worse than with half-dyed hair, but she couldn't help it. He swung the brush expertly and she faintly wondered how many times he had done this before. His hands in her hair were so much nicer than the Shampoodle's, made her feel... well, cared for. It was silly. He never cared, he never had and the one time she had thought that maybe there was a chance to change that, Missy had left her to die.

But his hand ran through her strands gently, brushing them quickly and efficiently, before his fingers ran down her neck back to her shoulders, leaving light trails and she couldn't help but let her head fall back and close her eyes, breathing out in relaxation.

She hadn't let many people touch this body of hers, and certainly no one as weirdly intimate as this. He was the Master though, the one person who knew her better than anyone else and she had never, ever, had any problems with him touching her. The things he said, the things he did, the tragedies and cruelty following his wake, yes, but his hands were capable to so much... so much _beauty_ , if he only put them to the right use and right now, it felt nothing but good to finally be touched again.

She hadn't been aware of how much she had craved intimacy before now.

He was done quickly (too quickly) and dropped the pot down beside her, before letting his other hand run down to her shoulders too, then rubbed her arms, wandering further down until they played around her wrists and before she could even react, the Master's fingers had entangled with hers.

“You gotta let it sink in a few minutes, then wash it out,” he whispered into her ears from behind and she sighed, leaning back against him, barely noticing the slight burn of her hair anymore.

“Okay,” she whispered back and he laughed, the sound pleasant in her ear.

“ You look good too, Theta. Like the new you.”

She felt his lips on her forehead, could feel the slight scratch of his beard and then he was gone, as if he had never been there, a rush of air and the loss of warmth behind her making the Doctor's eyes snap open.

She spun around to look at the exit with a grin, wondering if his future self would remember this day if he saw her with immaculate blonde hair next time they met.

What a stupid thing to wonder about.

Still, somehow it made her feel better. The slight idea of a “next time” and the faint hope of the memory of a little gentleness between them and their rage.

And of course, the memory that the Master had taken fashion advice from _her_ , of all people.


End file.
